As I have already said, Jamie was an auld-farrant laddie, bright intellectually and spiritually; brimful of humor, and yet yearning with all the force of his intense nature to see right into the heart of things; content to endure great weakness of body, in the full belief that one day he would leave all his infirmities behind him, and stand without a single flaw in the presence of his Master. It is many years now since he shook off the trammels of earth, but, when I meet him again I shall know him, and shall be glad.
IX. Boycotted
I OFTEN look back with longing to the simple rural life we spent in the dear old parsonage at Drumscondie. We rose early, both summer and winter; at eight o’clock breakfast was on the table, at one we had dinner, and at six in the evening we assembled for that delightfully cosy meal yclept High Tea. Then, in the winter, there was a hurry-scurry for a little, while the table was being cleared, the dishes washed and put away, and other domestic duties attended to; after everything was prepared for the morning, the whole of our little household, including Janet Spence, our faithful domestic and friend, gathered around the big open fireplace in the nursery. Mother, daughter and maid took their sewing, knitting or darning, and all listened while I read aloud from one of the old favorite works of fiction, or an ancient ballad from the days of chivalry. George Macdonald’s Alec Forbes and Robert Falconer, Malcolm Marquis of Lossie and Dooble Sanny with his Stradivarius, Miss Mulock’s John Halifax and Phineas Fletcher, Sir James the Rose and Sir Patrick Spens—were very real personages, in whose doings we took the keenest interest.
Many a happy evening did we spend in such delightful company, and much food for thought did we gather for the busy future.
I was reading one evening the Siege of Torquilstone from Scott’s “Ivanhoe,” when an interruption came in the shape of loud knocking at the kitchen door. I ceased reading while Janet went to see what was the matter. Presently the trampling of heavy boots was heard on the stairs, my study door was opened, and then shut, and Janet returned to tell me that three young men wished to see me. On my entering the study, one of the visitors whom I had met once or twice before, came forward, and introduced his companions.
“We’re a deppytation from the Mutual Improvement Society, Maister Gray,” he said, “an’ we’ve come to ask you if you would be so good as gie us a lecture some evenin’ soon.”
“A lecture?” I said, “why, I never gave a lecture in my life. I would gladly be of any service to your Society, but really I fear I am of no use in the way you mention. I don’t know what I could talk to you about.”
There was silence for a moment, and then an idea struck me. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I have for some years been trying, in my leisure time, to find out the origin and history of some of the old Jacobite songs. I could tell you how these songs came into being—what events in the romance of the white cockade called them forth—and, if you like, I would sing some of the songs.”
I could easily see from their faces that this was more than they expected.
“That would be splendid. We’ve never had onything o’ that kind before. We’ll lat a’ body ken aboot it, an’ the hall will be crooded.”